The curse of Kalaan (18 page)

This event was very real, but Kalaan, over the years, had done everything in his power to erase it from his memory. It was in October 1812, off the coast of England. A
Royal Navy
ship drew alongside
Ar Sorserez
belonging to the count of Croz. The count was on a secret mission for Napoleon 1
st
. Kalaan should not have been on board, but as usual he never did as he was told. He sneaked on board dressed as a cabin boy and remained hidden until the first shots from the cannons were heard.

Everything happened so quickly. Maden had maneuvered to prevent the other ship from outflanking him and boarding. But, at one point, it could no longer be avoided. The sound of swords clashing and muskets firing; the sickening coppery smell of blood and the shouting, prompted Kalaan to leave his hiding place and join the battle.

It was a gray day and the rain was pelting down on the sailors from both sides, diluting the sticky blood flowing on the decks. At first, Kalaan was paralyzed by the horrible scenes of men transpierced by swords or killed by bullets. This was his first real battle. His warm and loving father had always protected him from war. He looked for his father and saw him, crossing swords with an Englishman before killing him. It was then that his father noticed him. Kalaan saw the expression of horror on Maden’s face. The boy had no idea that he was in an Englishman’s line of fire. But he did see his father running towards him shouting incoherently and throwing himself in front of Kalaan taking the bullet destined for his son.

In the frenzy of the battle, Maden, shot in the chest, fell softly to the pontoon and Kalaan knelt at his side, shaking him by the shoulders, imploring forgiveness. His father’s amber-green eyes slowly left Kalaan’s face as the life went out of them.

Kalaan had caused Maden’s death. As spectator he saw the young boy that he was screaming, his face lifted to the sky and Maden in his trembling arms.

              Croz’s men, saddened and furious at the loss of their captain, surrounded young Kalaan and began fighting with a renewed energy. They destroyed their enemies and sank the
Royal Navy
ship.

“I killed my father, I killed my father...” Kalaan, in his state of hallucination, began chanting. He didn’t realize he was back in Jaouen’s home, and that the druid was speaking to him in an ancient guttural language —Gaelic.

Kalaan slowly calmed down, wiping his tears away with a trembling hand. He was still lying on the beaten earth floor with the straw and fragrant herbs and his heart was beating furiously in his chest.

“The magic fed off your pain,” Jaouen looked away towards the flames in the fireplace. “Which has become your worst enemy, for it has made you a cold and frightened man.”

The count swallowed and stood up. He swayed slightly and preferred to sit back on a stool. Nervous tremors ran through his body that he couldn’t easily control. He was surprised to see that Salam, next to him, was silent and still deep in a trance.

“What is happening to him?” Kalaan frowned, worried for his friend. He reached out to touch him, but Jaouen intercepted his gesture, shaking his head and the druid’s long white hair fell forward onto his round shoulders.

“It is not time for him to come back to the present. As for your situation, curse is a word used by men, and very different from the word used by the gods. That word, more suitable in your case, is ordeal, or trial. Your trial feeds off your fear.”

“Nothing frightens me,” Kalaan snarled.

“That is a lie. You are afraid to love and to be loved. Your father’s death, for which you are responsible, pushes you to detach yourself from your loved ones and those who could drive you to your weakness. It is for this reason you do not stay close to your family, but instead run away to the other end of the world. It is also for this reason that you find women unbearable because a woman could melt the ice in your heart and tear down the wall you built around yourself.”

Kalaan gritted his teeth but remained silent. The druid had hit the nail on the head! A flood of emotions came over him, emotions he did not want to feel, and the old man continued to speak, indifferent to the torment Kalaan was going through.

“You think women are a threat to you and the protective spell around the edifice in Egypt, fed from that. It doesn’t care how you feel, or what choices you make; it only cares about the trial you must go through to grow and open your eyes.”

“I don’t understand,” Kalaan said, deliberately lying. Jaouen gave him a piercing look and shook his head.

“Another lie. Stop fighting whatever frightens you. Turn your fear into your strength. Master it and open your heart. You must love and forgive yourself as your father did with his dying breath.”

“How can you know that?” Kalaan, feeling angry, stood up and threw his stool over near the table. Jaouen remained calm in the face of his anger.

“Invert the roles my child. Put yourself in your father’s shoes and think of the son you would have protected as Maden did. Would you have hated your child for causing your death, when you only wanted to save him? Would you have damned the little boy and held a grudge even in the afterlife? Your father knew what he was doing. He favored love, over death.”

Kalaan started shaking; he felt that little by little a huge weight was being lifted from his shoulders and his heart. Yes, he would have done the same in Maden’s place and he would do it today if his mother or sister, or both, were in danger.

“If I admit it, will I be freed of the curse?”

              It seemed very simple, so simple that Kalaan doubted it would work, even as he asked the question. Jaouen confirmed what he thought.

“No, only death will release you, as it is written there,” he said, pointing to a page in Salam’s notebook.

Kalaan hadn’t seen him take the little notebook. His astonishment grew even more when he realized that the druid had removed the glove covering the mark on his hand.

“I took advantage of your journey to the depths of your mind to read the notes and inspect your wound.”

“So, in short, I will remain a prisoner of this trial from the gods for as long as I live. Even if I come to love someone, it will not free me.”

“Love will save you from yourself; but where the curse is concerned…”

“I understand,” Kalaan sighed running a hand through his hair. “I just have one more question Jaouen.”

“Yes?”

“What about Champollion? Salam and Lil’ Louis told me he hadn’t fallen victim to the stone. Is that true?”

“You were hit with the full force of it, because you were the one who took the black tourmaline in your hand. However, your friends are wrong. The scholar is also under power of its magic. Salam noted, here on this page, that Champollion was raving just as you were when they found you. But he was shouting at death. So, that it his fear, what has been tormenting him for years. You transform into a woman at the first rays of sunlight, whereas he faces death every minute that goes by. He will fall ill, seriously ill, it is certain. And again, only death will free him.”

Kalaan held his breath. He couldn’t accept that Jean-François would die soon. The man was important for the world, but he, Kalaan, was nothing! He was horrified at such a loss looming on the horizon.

“We must warn him!”

“What for? Deep inside, he already knows the truth.” The old druid shrugged his shoulders. “Go home, leave your remorse behind and do not be afraid to love and be loved. Life is short.”

Kalaan nodded and turned to Salam.

“No, he stays here, with me. Your friend also needs my help. He will tell you about everything very soon. No, do as I say. The two of you are complementary; the gods always do things well.”

With these mysterious words ringing in his ears, Kalaan walked out into the night. He was dazed by everything that just happened, all the revelations; and he felt appeased because Jaouen’s words were a soothing balm to his sorrows. Now he only wanted to get to the castle as quickly as possible, to hold Amélie and Isabelle in his arms. He would never leave again, never put half the world between them and him. He had to make up for lost time.

              Slowly and with reverence, Jaouen carefully brought Salam out of his trance. The Tuareg blinked a few times and was startled to see that Kalaan had disappeared. He looked into the druid’s eyes and asked,

“Where…where is Kalaan?”

“Your friend has heard the truth that will free him from his fears but not from the trial of the gods. You are the one who will save him.”

Salam blinked again and his lips parted in surprise.

“You have just traveled to the past, and now you know who you are, even though you had forgotten everything.” Jaouen, very emotional, with tears in his eyes, spoke softly. “I have been waiting so very long, in the broken circle, for a sign, an event, anything from the gods and finally, you are here, Dorian.”

Salam shuddered and for a very brief moment, a split second, his irises lit up from a very bright internal light.

“Yes, Dorian… child of the gods.”

Jaouen pushed the blue cheich from Salam-Dorian’s head to reveal a magnificent head of dark hair with red highlights that came to life in the light of the flames. The man had no Tuareg origins, even if he had lived in Egypt since his childhood.

“You will have to remain hidden for a short while, the time it takes for me to teach you everything again. But soon you will be reunited with your loved ones, I promise.”

Chapter 12

A midnight encounter

             
“
Y
ou seem worried, Virginie.”Amélie was sitting at the head of an almost deserted table, at the end of an extremely quiet supper. The young woman put her desert fork down after finishing the last bite of her
kouign-amann
[55]
, dabbed her mouth with her fine linen napkin, and smiled reassuringly at her hostess.

“No, I’m not in the least, Madame. I must just be tired; after all it has been a long day, rife with emotion.”

“That is indeed true,” Amélie murmured, as she eyed the empty chairs and the untouched place settings. Her beloved son, his friend Salam as well as the stormy Catherine were all absent.

The lively atmosphere they had at dinner seems so far, now. Virginie could feel the dowager countess’ melancholy. She had dressed with care wanting to welcome Kalaan with honor. As for Isabelle, she fingered her beautiful pearl necklace and smiled thoughtfully at the seat that had been Salam’s at the earlier meal. Tonight, at the table, there was sadness, daydreaming, and restlessness. For Virginie was not tired, as she said, she was restless. She could not stop thinking about Catherine, their strange conversation at the broken circle, the legend and the hasty return to the castle.

If only it had stopped there, but Virginie wanted to understand the empty feeling she had when Catherine left her, abandoned in front of the castle, and strode off, to...who knows where.
What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?
She asked herself, sighing with exasperation.

“Thank you, Clovis,” Amélie said to the butler who was signaling the servants to clear the table.

“We will keep the supper warm for the count and his guests,” he said as he pulled out Amélie’s chair for her to stand up. As she left the table, followed by Isabelle and Virginie, she asked Clovis to bring them some chamomile tea in the next room.

The three women went into the drawing room through a communicating door, their skirts rustling as they moved. They took their seats in what seemed to be their attributed places, the wing chairs and the banquette. Virginie actually detested chamomile tea, and would have preferred something stronger, but she was too polite to ask.

Often, the evenings with her father would end with long conversations over a snifter of good old
Hennessy
cognac. Josephe de Macy used to repeat the famous quote about that particular brand, which Talleyrand is supposed to have said:
“We bring it to our noses and breathe in. Then, dear sir, we put the glass down and we talk.” Papa… no, don’t think about him now.
Virginie chided herself and clenched her teeth holding back her desire to cry, as she took her seat in one of the wing chairs.

Tomorrow, with any luck, there would be a letter for her from the detective she hired after her father’s brutal death. She’d been waiting for news for so long her nerves were wound up like a spring. Add to this, the troubling feelings she had thinking of Catherine …Oh yes! She did need something stronger than an herbal tea!

“If you please, do you think I could possibly have a cognac?”

Amélie and Isabelle, both surprised, looked at her in astonishment, but then, the younger of the two friends, smiled and asked her mother for one too.

“We should celebrate Kalaan’s return after all, shouldn’t we?” Isabelle, said, in good spirits. After Amélie gave her permission, Clovis prepared the drinks.

Oh, no, don’t talk to me about Kalaan!
thought Virginie, before she thanked Clovis and had a long drink of the alcohol.

“My, but you were thirsty!” Isabelle winked and said gently teasing her friend.

“Um...yes, I suppose so…” Virginie nervously cleared her throat.

“Could it be our dear Catherine who has put you such a state of anxiety? Was she rude with you?” Amélie was worried for her young guest.

“Not in the least!” Virginie exclaimed before continuing in a calmer voice. “Quite the opposite, in fact. She was very charming. She told me about the legend of the broken circle and we also spoke about her father, Diogenes.”

Isabelle nearly spit out the cognac she had in her mouth and Clovis dropped the silver tray noisily on the floor. The butler looked at Virginie as if she had just uttered the worst possible insult and Amélie brought her hand to her throat and stared wide-eyed at her.

“What did I say?” Virginie sat up in her wing chair and put her snifter down on the small table.

“Please forgive me, Madame.” Clovis’ voice was almost a whisper as he picked up the tray. Isabelle simply sipped her cognac, with a mysteriously impish attitude.

“That’s quite alright, you may go now,” Amélie said to the butler, reassuringly.

“Thank you Madame.”

“Oh,” Amélie added, “And please inform the staff that they can move back into the castle tomorrow. The repairs to the roof have been completed.”

“That is very good news, Madame. Good evening Madame.”

A moment later, the butler was gone, but not before giving Virginie one last strange look.

“Diogenes, then?” Isabelle asked, no longer capable of holding back her laughter.

“Yes, Catherine’s father.” Virginie repeated, with a puzzled frown.

“Pay no attention to my daughter,” Amélie said, giving Isabelle a dark threatening look. “Di…Diogenes is a unique man,” she added, stammering a little as if she found it difficult to talk.

“Yes, we could say that.” Isabelle was enjoying herself far too much to heed her mother’s silent warnings. “He certainly had a unique nose... for business.”

“Isabelle?”

“Yes mother?”

“To your room, at once!”

“With pleasure.”

Isabelle kissed Amélie on the cheek and warmly wished her friend a good night before running out of the room. Moments later they could hear giggles echoing in the entrance hall, giggles that tickled Virginie’s ears.

“There are days when the three years that separate us seem to be so many more!” Virginie said shaking her head, and looking into the flames of the fire.

“I understand. Isabelle is still a young girl in many ways. However, you too are young, Virginie. And I can sense that you are truly worried about something, and have been for several months now. I feel you are slowly losing your zest for life, when you had so much before.”

Virginie bit her lips to hold back the sadness that suddenly overcame her.

“I miss my father terribly, Madame.”

“Of course, losing a loved one is unbearable for those who remain behind. I won’t tell you the usual balderdash such as ‘time heals all wounds.’ But you must know that we learn to survive without them at our sides, by remembering the happiest moments we shared with them. Happy memories are essential, my child.”

Virginie nodded, discreetly brushing away a tear. If only she could confide in Amélie and talk about her torment; but then that could be dangerous. She had to take the time to think things through. Virginie managed to control her anxiety by remembering that she was here on the isle, surrounded by friends. Neither she, nor anyone else should be in danger.

“Kalaan must have been detained by Jaouen, our old druid,” Amélie said, breaking the silence. “He told me he would be going to his cottage with Salam, but I’d forgotten.”

The young marchioness smiled compassionately. The countess wanted to find excuses for her inconsiderate son. The woman was a remarkable mother with a very soft heart.

“These things happen, Madame.”

“Well, I think I will retire to my room. Will you come upstairs as well?”

“Um…if you don’t mind, I would like to remain here for a few more minutes.”

“But of course, my child. I bid you a good night.”

“And to you, as well, Madame.”

And so, the young woman found herself alone, once more, with her thoughts. However, this time, it did not disturb her. She had for sole company a glass of cognac, from which she took another sip.

Virginie sensed a presence at her side and suddenly opened her eyes. She was just emerging from the haze of a cognac-induced sleep. The three glasses she’d downed earlier had done more than simply relax her.

Still lying on the banquette, where she had moved to be more comfortable, her instinct warned her immediately and her instinct was never wrong. When her eyelids lifted, between her and the fireplace she saw a tall masculine silhouette leaning over her.

Screaming in terror, Virginie rolled onto the floor and grabbed the only object near her for defense.

“Are you serious, do you really think you can fight me with a glass?” taunted a sensual baritone voice. “Mademoiselle de Macy,” the man said. “You should know that it is a losing battle.”

Virginie was still on the floor, heart pounding, arm raised and glass in hand. No! It couldn’t be! This was not how she dreamed she would see Kalaan again. And yet it was. The man looking her up and down with the laughing amber-green eyes was indeed the count. As her mind cleared she remembered his words and immediately realized that he knew who she was and her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh... you recognized me,” she gasped, certain she looked ridiculously blissful.

“Of course I did; you’ve hardly changed.” Kalaan’s full lips were turned in a slight smile showing off his strong masculine chin.

Virginie frowned in response.
What a lout!
The man had not changed in the least! For a moment there, she believed him, believed that he thought she hadn’t changed. What a monster! The last time they met, she weighed sixty pounds more than today.

Kalaan quickly realized his blunder. How could he not? The beautiful sylph had turned into a dragon before his eyes. In his eyes she was even lovelier than when he left her outside the castle entrance that afternoon. But to her, the last time they met was many years ago.

“You… you...” The rage and frustration could be heard in Virginie’s voice.

“I saw you in the distance earlier today,” Kalaan said raising his hands as if to calm a wild animal. “Lil’ Louis was kind enough to tell me who you were. Here, let me. You might hurt yourself.”

Kalaan gently took the cognac snifter from her hands. His warm gloved fingers lingered as they touched hers.

“Oh…” Virginie sighed, both mollified by the count’s words and yet disturbed by his touch.

A shiver ran down her spine and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It was exactly the same feeling she had when Catherine held her hand. Lord, but Virginie thought she was losing her mind! How could she compare her reaction to Kalaan with what she felt in the company of that wildcat?

“You must have had a lot to drink.” The count shook the bottle of amber liquid, an amused expression on his face and went to the cellaret
[56]
, took a glass and served himself.

“Only a little,” Virginie lied brazenly. She stood and took advantage of the count’s turned back to put some order into her appearance.

When he turned around to face her again, her hair was smoothed and she was sitting as properly as is expected of a young woman of good upbringing. However the dark green cotton of her gown was terribly wrinkled and the kerchief meant to hide her plunging neckline had come undone.

This of course attracted Kalaan’s attention and his wandering eyes lingered on her corsage causing Virginie to blush. She lowered her head following the direction of his eyes, let out a small cry and quickly readjusted her kerchief.

Kalaan gulped down his drink and sat in one of the wing chairs leaving Virginie to choose between the other chair and the banquette. Preferring to put as much distance as possible between them, Virginie took the chair. The distance could not protect her from the overwhelming emotions she felt on seeing Kalaan. The boy she knew years ago was now older and stronger. He was also more handsome than she remembered. The fabric of his trousers was stretched tautly over his sensually muscular thighs and his broad shoulders filled out his jacket beautifully. The count was highly attractive and athletic looking. His chestnut hair falling wildly around his face was flecked with gold highlights, from the hot Egyptian sun.

Kalaan was looking at the fire, but feeling Virginie’s eyes on him, turned his head. She blushed and looked away, towards the boat shaped clock. It was one o’clock in the morning. It was either very late… or very early.

“I would like to present my sincere condolences for the loss of your father.”

The count’s remark took Virginie by surprise, and she felt her blood to turn to ice.

“Thank you.”

“He was a precious friend to me. Do you mind my asking what happened?”

He was murdered!
Virginie wanted to scream, but she didn’t. She kept her self-control, swallowed a few times and gripped the arms of her chair.

“The doctor said his heart gave out.”

Kalaan, noticing the young woman’s tensed hands, realized something was amiss and furrowed his brow. Much to his surprise, he could feel her pain, but he had to continue his questioning.

“But he seemed in excellent health.”

“He was,” she replied coldly. When she turned her pretty face towards him her features were marked by her chagrin, still deep.